A Song Makes You Feel a Thought
by shortystylee
Summary: A series of stories, drabbles, and short one-shots, all based slightly on ideas I've gotten from songs, but not exactly what I'd call songfics. Various settings, various pairings. Title is based on a quote by Yip Harburg, an American lyricist who wrote all of the songs for the Wizard of Oz.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One is based on the song Devil's Dance Floor by Flogging Molly, as well as partially from the scene in Titanic where Rose and Jack dance in the third class cabin.**

"Hey, Cat, how come you never dance like the rest of the ladies? Even the Mormont gals are nice enough to dance with us."

Cat, as she had come to be known at the town's only inn and tavern, was the only one at the table who didn't react to the question that Anguy should've known better than to ask. The five other men seated at the round wooden table laid their hands of cards facedown and stared at him in disbelief. She, on the other hand, barely moved from Anguy's point of view, but the other men could see her smirk as she held her cards in her right hand, the left one firmly around a half full pint glass, fingers tapping on the glass as she answered.

"My sister's a lady, not me. 'Sides, I'm much better at cards or the knife game... Well, that and drinking sorry excuses for men like yerself under the table." She smiled sweetly, batting her eyes like she meant it, and reveling in the uproar of laughter from the other men surrounding her at the table.

Gendry had been told that this girl was different just that before he'd gotten to the Kneeling Man with Anguy that evening after work. Thoros had taken him under his wing, said a strapping young man like him needed to meet this Cat, but he wasn't convinced.

_"I've moved around a lot, seen my fair share of beautiful ladies, all types," he'd said, his Southron accent most prominent on the vowels. "What's so special 'bout this one?"_

_"Ev'rything, boy, ev'rything. She's like no other woman round these parts. Ain't got no time for bein' a lady, even comes to the tavern in her brother's trousers and work shirts. You make no mistake though, second you see her you'll know she's a woman, if you know what I mean." Thoros gave him a wink before continuing. "Got herself an older sister, red hair, real tall and demure. Wouldn't even think of lookin' at the likes of us, but not Cat. She'll sit at the tavern and drink whiskey and pints of stout, hell, I saw her hustle Beric out of a week's wages playing poker before he even knew what'd happened. She's a spitfire, a real hellcat if I ever saw one."_

In the short time he'd been in town, Gendry has learned to take what Thoros said with a grain of salt, but as he stood leaning against the bar, just close enough to be in earshot of Anguy and Cat's conversation, he realized that Thoros was right.

"I reckon that's not it. See, my boy Gendry here," he started, gesturing towards the bar behind him, "He's been talkin' up a right storm over at the bar all night. He's new in town, ya see, and he's thinkin' that a tomboy little thing like yerself ain't dancin' 'cuz ya don't know how."

"He say all that, did he?" She finally turned all of the way around, pulling her legs up and over the bench to face Anguy. Gendry could see what Thoros had been talking about. She was wearing a long sleeve button-down shirt with a tweed waistcoat over top, gray pants that were tighter than they should've been on a man, so he assumed they were taken from a younger brother. Her shirt sleeves were rolled up above her elbows and her pants were a bit as well, showing off a pair of practical leather lace-up shoes. All she needed was one of those caps and she'd look like she ought to be selling newspapers down on Main Street.

"You bet your boots he did."

"Well, Anguy, you tell him that if he has the balls to come over here himself and ask me for a dance, that I'd be more than happy to oblige," Cat explained, raising her voice a bit to challenge him. She leaned back against the edge of the table, sitting with both arms resting on it and crossed left leg on top of her right. "Until then, I've got five men here that I'm lookin' to beat at five card tonight."

Anguy shook his head and walked back to the bar, but when Gendry looked up again, he noticed that Cat hadn't turned around. She had a devilish smirk on her face and her eyes were set on him. He knew that he'd never met a woman like this before. When he first saw her, he wasn't sure what it was about her - her attitude towards Anguy, her brazen confidence, the way she tried to dress masculine but was failing miserably to mask the curve of her hips or the swell of her chest.

There was something about her though, and even though he couldn't exactly put his finger on it, it didn't stop him from turning around to the barkeep, ordering up two full pints of beer, and marching over to where she sat. The man to her left seemed to be the first to get the gist of the situation, placing his cards face down again and walking away, and within seconds the rest of the men were gone as well.

"If I heard correctly, miss, you said you'd only give me a dance if I asked you myself," Gendry said, sitting down next to her. "I've come to offer you a drink and some conversation, and if you'd be so gracious as to offer me a dance, I would be most pleased."

"Let's get one thing straight, mister," she started, pulling the mug over towards her. "My name is Cat. That's all. It's not 'miss,' or 'ma'am', and gods be good if you call me 'milady' you'll be gettin' acquainted with my left hook, you can take that guarantee to the bank, you can."

Gendry couldn't help but laugh at the way she presented herself. Most girls he met would never have talked to him that way, and he was finding it increasingly attractive that she wanted to be an equal to him... and he had a feeling she wasn't kidding about that left hook. "Hey now, don't gotta bite my head off. I've got no issue with callin' you Cat," he paused and held his hand out. "Gendry Waters."

She took his hand, and he wasn't surprised in the least by her firm handshake, despite that her hand was practically engulfed by his. The handshake acted as a bit of a truce and from then on, for almost on an hour, their conversation flowed freely. He'd arrived in town a few weeks earlier from the capital, coming up to the North to look for work in the booming logging industry. He told her about his mother who'd died when he was young, and she asked earnest questions about what she was like and how it was to grow up alone in the big city. It didn't feel at all judgmental or prying like it did when anyone else asked him of his past. On the other hand, her words about her large family came out easily. She told him excitedly about going out at daybreak on chilly mornings to hunt fox or pheasant with her father, about how good of a shot she was with an old rifle she'd named Nymeria, and about how it was a tragedy that women hadn't been given the vote yet.

She had just started to tell him about a suffrage march in White Harbor she'd went to when the band changed some instruments around and started the first few notes of a new song, much more upbeat than everything else they'd played.

"You still want that dance?" He nodded. "Well, now's your chance." He watched as she grabbed her mug and finished what was left, loudly slamming the empty glass on the table.

He finished his quickly, then stood to offer her his hand, bowing the way he assumed someone posh would bow to a lady to ask for her hand in a dance. He was a bit worried for a split second that his display would anger her, but she laughed loudly at him instead, rolling her eyes and taking his hand, letting him lead her out to the center of the floor, surrounded by the other dancing couples. A few of the men eyed him suspiciously, but he just ignored it, assuming it was because she didn't dance often.

Gendry positioned himself to lead, taking her right hand in his left, splaying his right on the small of her back, still leaving about a foot of room in between them.

"You sure you're up for this? It's a fast one," she said, tilting her head to the side. There was a look on her face which said she was teasing him, or maybe challenging him again.

"Oh, don't you fret, milady, I've got this one down," Gendry replied, pulling her body flush against his before she had a chance to get angry at him for breaking the 'milady' rule. He watched her eyes widen as she was pulled against him, and he only heard a small gasp from her before he started the dance.

He'd never danced with someone wearing trousers before, that was for sure, but he was thankful for it with a fast-paced dance like this, since he couldn't make an ass of himself by stepping on her skirts. The band was a typical Northern folk band, complete with a fiddle, banjo, and an upright bass, and the song they played was a twangy, jaunty tune that Gendry had never heard before, but it seemed like everyone else was doing a sort of fast waltz. He could he was going back and forth between leading correctly and probably looking like a fool, but Arya never stopped him. She was a great partner, following his lead despite some mix-ups, and she had a smile on her face that let him know he was doing something right. Gendry caught her looking at him more than a couple times, hoping that the look she was giving him meant what he thought it did, but even if it didn't, it'd be all worth it to say he'd been able to lead Cat around the dance floor of the Kneeling Man. He knew it'd be years before he'd forget the way she giggled each time he made a mistake, a noise that seemed entirely out of her personality.

XxXxX

It was just at the end of the song, the band had finished their final notes and the crowd at the tavern was clapping loudly for them. She was breathing hard, practically out of breath, but she couldn't help the smile that was spreading across her face, matched by the same one she saw on Gendry's face. It scared her a bit, if she was honest with herself, how much she liked how he looked at her while they danced, and especially the way he was looking at her now. It was then that she was brought out of the tavern's revelry and back to reality. There was a large hand on her shoulder, and when she spun around to give that person a piece of her mind she saw her family's chauffeur Hodor behind her.

"Miss Arya, you've got to leave. Your poor lady mother has got herself all a mess on account of you not showin' up for supper with the Baratheons tonight. Gods, please don't let me be the one to tell Mrs. Stark that her fragile youngest daughter has been out drinking with the likes of these ruffians..." he said, letting his voice trail off.

"Hodor! Now, don't tell me that you're gonna tattle on me to mother. I thought I knew you better," she replied, punching his arm even though she knew he probably couldn't feel it and then giving him a knowing smirk.

"Your secret is safe with me as always, Miss Arya. I managed to sneak one of your dresses out of the laundry so you won't have to climb up the trellis like last time. Car's out front, you can change on the way back."

"Oh, you're a lifesaver, Hodor, really you are." Arya turned her head around to see Gendry still standing in the same spot a few feet away on the dance floor, eyes wide and his jaw practically dropped to the floor, unable to believe what was happening. She realized then that he had no idea who she was. True, she'd been a might bit upset at Anguy's talk earlier, but she had to give it to this Gendry. He'd walked right up, two pints full, and asked for a drink and a dance. Arya was through and through a Stark, she wouldn't go back on her words, especially when everyone in the rotten place had heard them. But in the end, she knew she'd enjoyed her time with him. She saw that Mr. Hodor was almost to the door when she called out to him. "Say, Mr. Hodor, think you can give me a minute? There's something I gotta do first. I'll be right out, I swear."

"Of course, lass," he replied, and continued on outside.

Arya walked up to Gendry, stopping about two feet from him and rest her hand on his arm a moment to make sure she had his full attention.

"...hey, I've gotten run home. My mother'll pitch a fit if she finds out I've been here again. She near fainted the last time... but don't worry. I'll be back here next week," she said, then looked down at her shoes in a rare moment of shyness before looking up to meet his eyes. He'd relaxed just a bit. "You'll save a dance for me, won't you, Gendry?"

He said nothing, just nodded his head slowly.

"Good," she replied, then quickly went up on her tiptoes, kissing the corner of her mouth, only lingering for a second longer than she knew she should've. "See you 'round, then."

XxXxX

He watched her return down to flat feet, before turning and running out of the door to the car. He was still in shock from before and now she'd went and kissed him. His mind was racing a mile a minute trying to make heads and tails of it, when he heard Anguy's laugh behind him.

His so-called friend walked up to him, continuing to laugh and clapping him on the back. "Better close your mouth son, you're gonna catch flies."

"... S-Stark? That's Arya Stark? As in the mayor's daughter? And I just asked her to... and we just... oh gods, she just kissed... and you knew who she was?!"

"Course I knew! Everyone in this shit hole knows who she is, 'cept you that is."

"You're such an ass," he said, shaking his head and walking over to the table that Beric was seated at.

"Oh, calm down, lad," Beric said, passing him a drink. "No harm done."

"It was a riot though, weren't it, Beric?" Anguy said, joining them at the table. "I wish he coulda seen his own face."

"Yea, it's gonna be a real riot when the mayor runs me clear outta town."

"Nah, won't happen. Shit, Cat's in this joint round 'bout every week, just like she said. Old Hodor there, the Stark's driver, he's a good fellow. Loyal. He won't tell a soul. And besides, she'll be back. Lass like that one'll never admit it, but she fancies you alright, I can tell."

Gendry was still a little excited over his encounter with Cat that evening, though he was certain in the end he'd been with Arya, the real part of her. He was also very sure that next week he'd be waiting at the tavern with an extra pint of beer in-hand for a certain spitfire young lady to show up so he could ask for another dance.


	2. Chapter 2: Pints of Guinness

**Warning: there is character death in this one-shot, though not first person. i didn't want to mark the main story as such since this is a series of one-shots. this is your warning. This chapter is drawn from Against Me!'s Pints of Guinness Make You Strong. The lyrics work so well with this idea, give it a google to read them if you have the chance.**

The first call came at 8:15am. Sansa rolled over in bed, noticing the time on the AM/FM radio alarm clock on the bedside table and knew exactly who was calling her. Her oldest daughter would be on her drive to work after dropping off her twins at elementary school. She'd be calling her from the Bluetooth in her SUV, coffee in the cup holder, as she weaves through the downtown Kings Landing traffic. She called most mornings, and most mornings they talked, but not today. Usually Sansa woke with the sun and had showered, eaten breakfast, and watered the potted plants on her front porch by the time Hannah called.

XxXxX

Three short knocks on the front door. She'd been pacing back and forth across the family room in her baby blue housecoat, hair pulled away from her face in the rag curlers she slept in each night, unconsciously biting her nails, a habit she'd dropped as a girl.

The police officer at the door took his hat off when he saw her, and when he started, "Mrs. Clegane? I think it's best if we sit down..." she was already crying.

XxXxX

It was the fall of 1965 and Sandor was home on a short three month leave from the army when Sansa crossed his path. Over ten years her senior, there were few opportunities for them to meet. She'd always thought she would marry her high school sweetheart, and when that didn't happen, it was a very good fatherly pep talk that convinced her to go to university. On a cheer scholarship she attended the University of Southern Westeros. During her junior year, the football program teamed with the USO for a special exhibition game against some of the soldiers. Sandor played, Sansa cheered, and they met that evening at the post-game pig roast. She knew she'd always remember it - she'd still been in her uniform, helping in the ice cream line, when all of a sudden she was pulled into muscled arms and staring into intense gray eyes. It felt like forever, until a few moments later he angrily yelled at a few army buddies, using language that made her blush, getting irate that they were playing catch so close and almost hit this unsuspecting little bird with the football. The nickname. That's what caught her attention and got her to seek him out after mumbling a thank you and getting back to serving ice cream. She offered to make him a home cooked meal in the house she shared with a few girl friends, and the rest was history. He would soon have to return to the war in the Summer Isles, the one she wasn't sure why we were fighting, the one her little sister and tens of thousands of other university students were protesting, in less than ninety days. In probably the craziest and best decision of her life, they married in a small ceremony on the Blackwater, attended only by her sister Arya, her boyfriend Gendry, and the septon. No time for the fanciness she'd dreamed of as a girl. She wore a pale blue sundress with a matching wide brimmed hat and stood barefoot in the warm sand. Sandor wore his dress uniform, swearing up a storm when a wave came in and left seaweed all over his boots.

Three days later, he was gone. Her parents thought she was crazy, but they'd always trusted her decisions in the past and continued to do so. For the next year and a half, they would write letters like crazy, every single one was now neatly stacked in a series of almost ten shoeboxes in the closet of the spare room. It was through the letters they learned about each other and Sansa learned about what was really going on in the Isles, everything the evening news on TV or the papers didn't tell her.

XxXxX

"Can you imagine, having to raise three children on your own? At her age... she's so young."

"Those children need some fatherly influence. How can she expect to do a proper job?"

"She's probably better off without the last one. Eddie said told me the boys down at the precinct said that husband of hers had gotten kicked out of Clara's after getting cut off and apparently tried to pick a fight outside. Police chief found him dead in the alley later that evening, must've been too drunk to stand and cracked his skull on the brick wall... Kathy's Rick, he was the one who had to deliver the news..."

"That's horrible. If he tries to pick fights at bars I'd hate to think what he was like at home. Poor thing, but you know, she'll still got time to find herself another man."

Kill them with kindness, that's what her mother had always told her. They'll get theirs in the end, that was the slightly more vindictive version from her Aunt Lysa.

People always whispered much louder than they thought they were, that's what she'd learned. They didn't keep it down in the grocery store, or the bakery, the bank, the beauty parlor where she went once a week to get her hair done. She couldn't hear the other women through the loud noise of the hair dryer, but the looks were enough.

XxXxX

She never remarried. Sure, in the past forty years there'd been some men who were nice enough, and she'd gone to dinners and movies with them, but it wasn't the same. They all knew, they all handled her with kid gloves, which was something Sandor never did. Everyone thought he was her rock, but it was the other way around. She was strong to him, dependable, the glue that held their little family unit together.

XxXxX

The day started out as every Thursday had. Sansa woke up early, pulled out her curlers and fixed her hair, then got breakfast ready for the five of them. Sandor left for work, and Sansa wrangled the three children in the car, dropped the younger two off at Nan's for daycare, dropped Hannah off at the elementary school, then headed to her job at the Crownland Gazette, ready for a day of correcting their journalists' grammar errors. She worked through lunch, eating at her desk so she could pick Hannah up from school at three-thirty, run errands, and get Ned and Susanna from Nan's.

Everything seemed slightly off when she got home. It looked like Sandor wasn't home yet, but there were dirty boot prints on the door mat and his coveralls were hung up on the hook in the mud room, but she didn't see him anywhere. She got the kids settled into playing in the rec room and started dinner, when she noticed something else strange. The mail, which he usually grabbed, was spread out across the kitchen table, with a few pieces even having fallen to the linoleum. Sandor was normally very meticulous about the house, a trait she knew she had the army to thank for, and it left a weird feeling with her that he would leave the house with the strewn across the table.

She waited though. Maybe he had errands to do, or was planning a surprise, she began to rationalize. Dinner came and went, and she lied to Hannah and Ned, telling them he was helping Gendry with his car. When she put the children to bed and Sandor still wasn't home, she finally called down to the police station.

XxXxX

There were no witnesses, no investigation. The police ruled it an accidental death and life in their town went on with its normal slow pace. A month passed, and things still were not sitting right with her. Why would he break his sobriety like that? Six years had passed since he'd gotten sober. And he was so very proud of it, wanted to be a good example for his children.

One weekend, when the children were with her parents for the day, she came across the business card for Elder Brother in a junk drawer. Without thinking, she left her cleaning and drove across town to the Sept.

"I knew you'd come eventually," he said, rising from behind his desk to shake her hand, surprised when she walked around to hug him immediately afterwards.

"You know why I'm here?"

"I know a lot of things, Mrs. Clegane," he said with a smile. "Please sit down."

She sat, crossing her legs, folding her hands her lap, and waiting for whatever information she could get.

"He gave this to me the day he died. He came by here, but he was irate. I tried to calm him down, but there was no trying," he paused, passing an opened envelope across to her. "He threw it on my desk and stormed out. By the time I read it, he was long gone... I could've tried to tail him, but I just thought he was upset... and it'd been six years, I didn't believe he'd go back on that."

She turned the envelope over in her head. It was addressed to Sandor, return address of Westeros Department of Defense. With a deep breath, she opened it, pulling out the letter and unfolding it.

"This... this is..." she started, suddenly unable to straight. In a flash it all seemed to make sense to her.

"They were sending him back, Mrs. Clegane," Elder Brother said, even though she already knew that from the letter. "I don't think he was capable of handling being back there again..."

_Please report to the Red Keep Military Compound at 8am on Monday, August 17th, 1974... _

XxXxX

Tomorrow her life would go back to normal. She'd talk to Hannah in the morning, do some gardening, and meet up with Arya and Gendry for lunch like she did every Tuesday.

That'd be tomorrow. Today was about her, about Sandor, and remembering, and grieving. About not forgetting to be strong, no matter how hard it was or how tired she got.

She spent the afternoon going through old photos, letters they'd written to each other, mementos from trips. Around four, she started to cook dinner, making his favorite - a rare T-Bone steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables.

When it was time to go to bed, she changed into her pajamas and lay on her side, looking over at what she kept on the bedside table. A mystery novel, a framed picture of their family on the beach in Storms' End, another picture of herself with her four grandchildren, and a worn brown leather wallet.

Reluctantly, she reached over and took the wallet, opening it and going through the contents. Her father had given this to Sandor on his return from the Isles. There was his driver license, expired by thirty-eight years, eight dollars, and a coupon for the car wash in town that'd be closed for twenty years. She took a breath before taking out the rest. A business card for the Elder Brother at the non-denominational Sept who'd helped Sandor with his counseling, his A.A. card and six bronze one-year sobriety coins, and a lock of bright red hair, tied with a baby blue ribbon.

Sansa was strong now, she didn't cry. She mourned for forty years and had cried enough. She put all of the items back into his wallet and returned it to its place on the nightstand. _Tomorrow will be a normal day_, she told herself. _You'll talk to Hannah, garden, get lunch with Arya. You'll be strong for Hannah and her twins, for Ned's son, Susanna's daughter, and you'll be strong for Sandor and his memory. It's what he would've wanted._


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to Paradise

**Welcome to Paradise - Green Day**

**Arya x Gendry**

"Shir, I think I've found it!" Arya yelled excitedly from her spot at the kitchen table behind her laptop. "I know I've said this, like, five times already this week, but I think this is actually it."

"Finally?" Shireen asked, and Arya could feel the sense of disbelief in her voice. She'd procrastinated at looking for new apartments for a while, and finally the urgency of the situation was enough to make her start, albeit only two weeks before she was going to be kicked out of the dorms for summer break. In the last two weeks, Arya had more than a few close calls at finding new apartments, each time exclaiming to Shireen that "this one is it!" and each time finding something wrong. _I've cried wolf enough times that now she doesn't believe me. At least I'm doing that family crest right_, she thought.

"Yes, finally... I'd have called the number already but I don't want to piss off a potential future housemate by calling at 11pm." She unplugged the cord from her laptop and picked it up, carrying it and a half-eaten bag of cheesy Doritos over to where her roommate was sitting on the university-issued futon, the one she'd covered in a two layers of fitted sheet and a liberal spray of Febreeze upon moving in. She had Shireen read through the ad and look at the pictures that were attached. "Guess it'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"I still think you should study abroad in Qarth next semester with Meera and me," Shireen began. "You could even visit Dragonstone with us this summer. You know you and Bran used to love to come visit when we were younger."

"Gods, I wish I could, but you know I don't have the money for that. Fuck," Arya swore, pulling a hair tie off her wrist and pulling back her hair into a laughably short ponytail, "if I had the money I wouldn't be looking for a place to lease on Craigslist for the summer AND next year for under $300 a month. You know how hard it is to find a cheap apartment in this city."

"Well, considering that only yesterday you were asking me to drive with you out to Bear Island Supplies to buy you a tent so you could camp out under the Kings Road overpasses..." Shireen started, passing the laptop back onto Arya, "Any place with four walls, a roof, and a door is a huge improvement."

Arya went to sleep soon after, words from the ad swirling around in her head from the time she climbed up into the lofted bed until she fell asleep. She probably knew the listing better than whoever wrote it. Two bedroom, one bathroom, third floor in a building that was converted from an old industrial building. It had everything - it was under her meager budget, there was a close subway line, free on-street parking, and it was furnished. There was no laundry on-site but she'd already searched on Google Maps for the nearest laundromat, which happened to be on the same route she'd take to campus. It was perfect. _And available now_, Arya thought, recalling the listing. _Which is great, since the dorm is gonna kick us out in four days. _

The next morning, Arya called the number in the ad as early as she figured was acceptable. The girl who answered sounded nice enough, albeit way too chipper for eight in the morning, but she confirmed that the room was still available and that the $275 a month rent was, in fact, correct and included utilities. The second she heard that, Arya quickly told the girl she'd take it.

"You don't want to come and look around?" She'd asked politely, multiple times, but each time Arya refused.

"Well, normally I would, but the pictures were amazing, the price is even better, and to be honest, I'm in a bit of a time crunch," Arya explained. They talked for a few minutes about leases and keys, agreeing that for the summer it'd be a sublet and then once school started Arya would simply take over half the lease. They wouldn't have time to meet beforehand, but the girl said she'd leave the key with her roommate, who she would tell to be home on Wednesday when Arya showed up to move her things in.

Two days and two last final exams later, Arya had packed up all her worldly possessions, not much really, into two large duffel bags of clothes, a laptop bag, and two or three boxes of DVDs, books, and other things. She followed the GPS directions to the address given to her over the phone, and only a few seconds had passed from when she pulled up along the curb until she fished her phone out and dialed Shireen.

"Shireen, I don't think this is the right place."

She heard Shireen's exasperated exhale at the other end of the line. "What do you mean 'not the right place'? Are you lost? Did you forget to charge _my_ GPS again?"

"Shut up, I'm serious. The address is right, but I'm not sure about this neighborhood. It's a little sketch," Arya said, scanning the area she could see from where she was parked, noticing graffiti and broken windows on some buildings, an old Buick Roadmaster up on blocks in the alley, and the corner liquor store that had rod iron bars on the front door and a startling lack of windows. "Ugh, fuck me, it's a lot sketch."

"Of course it's a crap neighborhood," Shireen laughed. "But you're the one that agreed to rent from a stranger in Flea Bottom."

"Flea Bottom? No, this place is in Lower Town, ad said so." Arya got out of the car, grabbed one of her duffel bags from the passenger seat and started to walk towards the four-story brick building.

"Flea Bottom, Lower Town, same thing," she explained. "Some neighborhood development agency renamed it like five years ago thinking it'd help the area grow. Sounds like it hasn't helped much though..."

"Shit, shit, shit. This is what I get for wanting to pay cheap rent, isn't it?" There was a large stoop in front of the building and Arya tried to open the door, but got nowhere. "Hang on a sec, Shir. Front door to this place is like a fucking wall." _Guess that's a good security measure though_. The large front door was just as heavy as it looked. Arya gently put her phone in the front pocket of her shorts, trying not to hang up on Shireen, and then adjusted her bag to be fully behind her back before putting all of her weight into the door to push it open. "Okay, back now."

"You gonna back out on the place?" Shireen asked.

Arya turned and looked outside again before the door slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the hallway. It wasn't the best place by far, especially compared to their dorm room at KLU. _There's free parking though_, she thought. Her fifteen year old hand-me-down Jeep with its awful matte green paint job, rust around the wheel wells, and non-existent air-conditioning almost looked like it belonged there parked at the curb. _And no one'll wanna steal that thing._

"Gods, I dunno..." Arya started again, immediately finding the stairs and starting her ascent to the third floor. In spite of the way the outside looked, the staircase that wound its way up the side of the building was surprisingly well lit from the sunlight, able to stream in through huge windows, easily twice as tall as Arya. "I don't think I have a choice. My summer classes start on Monday and the dorm closes tomorrow, so I think I'm stuck here. It can't be that bad... and I mean, that heavy door is a good first line of defense," she said, making her way quickly up the flights of stairs until she found herself in front of the apartment door. She took a deep breath and knocked three times, listening to the sound reverberating in the empty hallway.

"I just want to make sure you're safe. I grew up in the city, and yes, I know you'll say that I went to boarding school and was sheltered, but..."

After a few seconds of what seemed like forever, the door finally opened when Shireen was starting on about how her dad could have the police scope out the neighborhood, do regular patrols, or something like that, but Arya had stopped listening the second the person opening the door was revealed.

"... Shireen, I've gotta let you go," Arya said hurriedly.

"Wait, Arry, is everything -"

"Gotta go, Shir, talk to you later!" Arya said, taking the phone away from her ear, swiping to hang up, and shoving it into her pocket.

She was looking up at the young man who opened the door, forcefully willing herself not to stare. He was tall, maybe even taller than her oldest brother Robb, and she had to guess he was maybe the same age as him too, a year or two younger at most. _Well, shit_, she thought. _Not exactly the roommate I'd expected. A lot less innocent maiden, a lot more muscled warrior..._ She looked him over, making mental notes of black hair that was a touch too long, the little laugh lines that formed next to his blues eyes when he smiled and first opened the door, and the odd outfit consisting of holey jeans, a paint-splattered white t-shirt, and a disposable face mask that hung around his neck. There were a few splotches of paint on his arms and a yellow stripe on his cheek, which he either didn't care about or didn't know was there.

"You here to sublet?" He asked, craning his neck a bit and looking over at the duffel bag that was almost as large as she was.

"That'd be me," she answered, nodding her head, then holding out her hand to shake his, all while trying not to let the bag fall off her shoulder, only to thoroughly succeed in making herself seem like the least coordinated person ever. "Arya Stark."

"Gendry Waters." He smiled as he shook her hand quickly, but still firmly, not in the way that most men did, as if they were afraid to break her. Before she'd had time to protest, he was grabbing her bag from her shoulder and opening the door the rest of the way, stepping to the side to let her in.

"Let me guess. You talked to my cousin on the phone and she somehow forgot to mention that the person you'd be living with is a guy?" Arya nodded. "Myrcella's like that. Awesomely nice girl, but she has a tendency to forget certain details at times." He'd walked into the center of the large living room before he set her bag down on a couch and turned to look back at her. He seemed to remember he had the face mask around his neck, making an awkward face as he pulled it over he his head, folded it in half as best as he could, and shoved it in his back pocket. "Is it a problem for you to live with a guy? I can promise you that I have no criminal records... well, except for a few speeding tickets, and that all of my exes have assured me that 'it wasn't me, it was them.'" He made the quotations in the air as he spoke.

Arya took a second to get a feel for her surroundings. The apartment was very nice on the inside - there ceilings were with large windows, the kitchen tucked over to the side looked to have relatively new appliances, and it was definitely large enough for two people. Whoever it was that wrote the Craigslist ad was very truthful, it seemed exactly as advertised. Arya began to wander around the apartment slowly, walking through the kitchen and running her hand over the countertop, looking down a little hallway she assumed was hiding a bathroom and two bedrooms, then back to the open layout living room and dining room - really just a couch, coffee table, television, and a table and a chairs set that Arya recognized from every IKEA catalog that Shireen ever thumbed through. The largest part of the room was across the way, the floor taken up with a series of large canvas tarps and a number of huge pieces of drywall held up on easels so huge they were almost comical. There was a steel cart on wheels, the kind they'd always used in her elementary school to wheel the televisions in to each classroom, but it was filled with cans every color of spray paint ever made. One of the large pieces of drywall was a partially finished piece, a pleasantly bright honey yellow background was forming, and there was what looked to be a stencil of a stag carefully taped on top.

She was standing with her arms crossed at her chest, head tilted to the side, seriously considering another of the works, a design which she had immediately recognized as the three-headed dragon logo, however much more edgy and stylized than normal.

"It's Targaryen, isn't it?" She'd heard his footsteps approaching her, and asked the question even though she already knew the answer, just to have something to say.

"Yep. That was commissioned for one of their youth outreach campaigns. Gotta haul it down to their advertising department in the morning."

"Well then, I guess I won't let myself get too attached to it."

"That mean I don't have to put another ad up online? You're not worried about living with some guy you don't know?"

She shrugged. "Honestly, no. I don't know why I assumed it'd be a girl. I grew up with four brothers and a male foster kid living in our house, so I figure it'll be just like that. Besides," she continued, venturing to give him a bit of an adventurous smirk, "I might seem little, but don't underestimate me. Growing up with guys means I could beat the piss outta you if provoked." She winked quickly, hoping he'd get the idea that she was joking, or at least half joking. "And, when you really get down to it, if I don't take this apartment, I'm pretty shit outta luck. My back-up option is camping under one of the Kings Road overpasses. I'd rather take my chances with you and if I stay here I won't have to make any fires in fifty gallon drums to keep warm at night. So, congratulations, you've got yourself a new roommate."

"Don't get too excited," he warned, laughing a bit, but the warning still sounded light-hearted. "The walls aren't that well insulated in winter, I'm pretty sure the people who live above us own a godsdamned elephant, and you'll need to cancel any plans for long, hot showers... but it's still a million times better than under an overpass," he explained. He started to walk over towards the couch, back where he'd dropped her bag, and Arya followed, not knowing what else to do, or if maybe he had something else to show her. He picked the bag up, set it gently on the floor to the side, then sat down on the couch, uncaring about the paint on his t-shirt potentially rubbing off, and motioned for her to sit down.

They sat there for a minute, both still awkward in this new relationship they found themselves in, Arya still looking around her new home, and Gendry still not too sure what to say.

"You say all that, but it's actually really great," Arya said. "I lived in the KLU dorms before this, and it was just sort of like adulthood with training wheels, ya know? You feel like you're all independent, but the doors lock at midnight, it's full of girls that are just as clique-y as they were in high school, and even though I pay out the ass to live there, I can't even have a fucking coffee maker in my room since it's a fire hazard. Before that, I was at home, constantly surrounded by my parents, five siblings, foster brother, and whoever else happened to be at the house at the time. You never really get to have something that's just yours... shit, even _time_ that is just yours."

"I get the feeling... but that's exactly what's great about here. It's not the greatest neighborhood and it's nothing to write home to your mom about, but there's an awesome 24-hour diner, a cheap Laundromat, and there's a great view of the Blackwater from the roof. Best of all though, and you'll love this part - it's _ours._ I've been here for five years, and this is the first place I've had that I feel that way about, and I think it'll be the same for you." He looked over, having realized he was speaking rather poetically about the apartment, but found her already looking at him. She knew she had the biggest smile on her face, but she wasn't going to let herself feel stupid about it. He smiled back, and without thinking, put his hand over hers. "Welcome to paradise."


	4. Chapter 4: Roadside Pt1 (JonYgritte)

"Good evening and welcome to today's edition of Inside Westeros. I'm your host, Mellara Meadows. This evening we'll be featuring segments on the drought ravaging Dorne, some stunning new discoveries out of a team of Highgarden University archaeologists on-site in the ruins of Old Valyria, but first, we have an interview with Jon Snow, the Kings Landing Times reporter turned Westeros Nightly New correspondent, who was recently made famous by his captivating and brutally honest coverage of the situation at The Wall," she introduced. Pausing for a second, the main camera widened its range of view, now showing Jon Snow sitting next to her, with a couple of his more famous pictures from his embedment on the screens in the background. "Jon, it's a great pleasure to have you with us this evening."

"It's great to be here, Mellara."

Be polite, they'd told him, prepping him for the interview while he was sitting in the hair and makeup room. There was an old man, an executive producer Jon has assumed by the way he composed himself and the suit he wore, standing over Jon while he sat in the make-up chair as a pretty twenty-something put foundation on him and tried to tame his mess of curls. They'd given him a list of questions to expect so he could work on answers before hand, since his segment would be live, but they also warned him that Mellara was able to ad-lib questions. You'll have a small microphone, so no need to yell, and please no cursing. They dressed him in a suit, no tie. He'd be seated with Mellara Meadows, the very pretty host of Inside Westeros, who normally didn't report on hard-hitting topics like this.

"I'm sure by now everyone has seen your weekly reports, but I'd like to start from the beginning. Would you mind explaining how this assignment came your way?"

"My senior advisor, Olenna Tyrell, she put tremendous faith in me when she gave me this assignment. In truth, I'm not sure I would've picked a junior reporter for something of this magnitude, but I'm very lucky she gave me this opportunity."

The interview continued as expected, mostly all questions regarding his time spent north of The Wall and a couple about how growing up in Winterfell, so close to all the fighting had impacted his opinion. There were questions on what it was like living in a warzone, his feelings of safety, how the experience changed his opinions regarding the land claims made by the indigenous 'Wildling' groups who lived there, and then the relationships he'd made with people he now called his friends.

Jon was beginning to sense where this train of questions was going, and when he'd agreed to do the interview, he thought he'd made it plainly clear that there were to be absolutely no questions with regards to his relationship with Ygritte. He didn't hide it during the footage in his weekly reports, but it wasn't something he boasted about either. Now that he was back in Westeros and not going north of The Wall soon, or maybe ever again, it was not a topic he wanted to revisit.

"We only have time for a few more questions, but based on the emails and tweets we've received, there's one question that all of your loyal viewers have been dying to know," she paused for a second, probably to be dramatic, and that was when Jon noticed that the picture up behind him had changed from a still shot of him reading to a group of children in one of the makeshift refugee camps to a picture he remembered perfectly. Sam, his cameraman, had taken it one evening after one of their traditional Winter celebrations. It was Jon, still dressed in his flannel-lined khakis, combat boots, and flak jacket, sitting on a large rock in front of the bonfire they'd made. Ygritte sat next to him, only in her normal uniform from the waist down, she wore worn of her civilian knitted sweaters and had her helmet off, letting her unruly mop of bright red hair tumble down around her. Her right hand was on his leg as they posed for the picture, and he remembered his left hand behind her back, playing with the bit of skin that was exposed from where her cargos and sweater didn't meet. She looked like she was a second away from breaking into peals of laughter, and even the normally serious, stoic Jon had a grin on his face.

He didn't give her the opportunity to finish her question.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, visibly upset. He stood up suddenly and the camera man had to snap into action, not sure whether to follow what Jon was doing or to keep filming Mellara's dumbstruck face. "But this interview is over." He frantically unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled the microphone out, dropping it on the desk in front of them, and walking off stage.

There was silence as the camera came back down to Mellara, clearly not prepared for what happened. A producer was shouting on the phone behind the glass when words finally appeared on the teleprompter.

"... and with that we're going to go to commercial. We'll be back with Matt's report on this year's drought and it's affect on the Dornish wine country after this short break."


End file.
